Billionaires: The Tycoon. Julia James

shivered. He was like a classical statue you might see in a museum—with broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and muscular legs. But statues didn’t have tawny skin which glowed with life, nor midnight eyes which gleamed with hunger. Inevitably, her gaze was drawn down towards the cradle of his masculinity where, against a palette of jet-dark curls, his erection was thick and pale and prominent. Amber felt her pulse go shooting skywards. She’d never got this far before—she’d always fallen at much earlier hurdles—and perhaps she should have been daunted by what she saw. But she wasn’t. It felt natural. As if it was supposed to happen. As if fate had intended it to happen—before she reminded herself that she wasn’t going down that path. Stardust and roses weren’t part of this equation, she reminded herself fiercely. This was sex. Nothing but sex. He’d told her that himself.

      ‘I like it,’ he murmured as he came over to the bed and pulled her into his arms.

      ‘Wh-what?’

      ‘The look on your face.’ He smiled. ‘As if this was the first time all over again. Have you spent years perfecting that look of wonder and innocence, Amber—knowing just how much it will turn a man on?’

      If she’d written the script herself, there wouldn’t have been a better time to tell him but Amber couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because now he was kissing her and his hands were starfishing over her breasts and she could feel his hardness pressing against her belly.

      ‘Conall,’ she gasped as he pulled back for a moment to slide her panties down and she lifted up her bottom to help him.

      ‘You were the one who didn’t want to talk,’ he murmured as he fumbled for the silver packet he’d put beside the bed. ‘Though maybe you’d better say something to distract me because I’ve never had so much trouble putting on a damned condom.’

      ‘Be...be careful.’

      The smile on his lips died. ‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. Having a baby with you was never part of my agenda.’

      The stark statement was oddly painful and yet somehow it helped. It helped her focus on the way he was making her feel and not the conflicting thoughts which were swirling around inside her head.

      So she kissed him back with a passion which came from somewhere deep inside her, and with growing confidence began to explore the warm satin of his skin with her mouth and her fingers. And when he moved over her and parted her thighs, the fear she felt was only fleeting. She was twenty-four years old, for heaven’s sake. It was time.

      Conall gave a groan as he thrust into her, knowing he was going to have to be very careful because he was so aroused he wanted to come straight away. And she was so tight. His heart pounded like some caged animal locked inside his chest. Too tight. He gave a near-silent curse as realisation dawned on him and his body stilled. For a moment he almost achieved the impossible by starting to withdraw from her, but the moment was lost the second she cried out and he couldn’t work out if the sound was pain or pleasure. Had he hurt her? He stared down into her face, into eyes which were wide—as if seeking some kind of approval—and instantly he shut his own with grim deliberation, not wanting her to see his anger or his disbelief as he began to move inside her. Part of him wanted to just spill his seed and have done with it, but the pride he took in his reputation as a lover made him take his time...

      Duplicitous little bitch, he thought as he drove into her—each thrust making her gasp out her pleasure. With almost cold-hearted precision he did all the things to her which women liked best. He tilted up her hips to increase the level of penetration while he played with her clitoris. He rode her hard and he rode her slow, and only when he felt her body begin to tense did he let go—and then it was his time for bewilderment. Because it had never happened to him before. Not like this. Not at exactly the same time—as if they’d worked very hard at sexual choreography classes to ensure the ultimate in mutual fulfilment. So that as her back began to arch and her long legs began to splay, he couldn’t even watch her—he was too busy focusing on his own orgasm, which was welling up inside him like an almighty wave, before taking him under.

      Had he thought that the chase was always more tantalising than the conquest? He had been wrong.

      Because all he was aware of was the convulsive jerk of his body and the molten rush of heat. Of the sweetest pleasure he had ever known flooding him...and his shuddered cry drowning out the distant hoot of the night owl.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      ‘YOU ACTED...’

      Conall’s words trailed off and Amber didn’t prompt him. She didn’t want to talk and she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. She didn’t want to do anything except lie here and go over what had just happened, second by glorious second. To remember the way he’d kissed her. The way he’d pushed deep inside her—and then the growing awareness of her body’s reaction, which had seemed too good to be true. Only it hadn’t been. It had been very real and very true. Conall Devlin had made love to her and it had been perfect. She expelled a long, slow breath of satisfaction. Suddenly she could understand all the fuss and hype and everything which went with it. Sex was pretty potent stuff.

      But then when it was over, he had withdrawn from her without even looking at her. He had just rolled over onto his back and lain there staring at the ceiling in complete silence. As if he was working out what he was going to say, and something told her she wasn’t going to like it...

      She was right.

      ‘You acted like you’d been round the block a few times—and then some,’ he accused.

      She risked a glance at him then and almost wished she hadn’t because it triggered off a craving to touch him again and that was the last thing he wanted, judging from the stony look on his face. You haven’t done anything wrong, she told herself. And he can only make you feel bad about yourself if you let him.

      ‘You’re objecting to the fact I was a virgin?’ she questioned, in a voice which was surprisingly calm. Maybe it was the endorphins rushing through her bloodstream which were responsible—making her feel as if she were floating in the sea, in bright sunshine. ‘And you’re objecting to the fact that I hadn’t been around the block, is that what you’re saying?’

      He turned to look at her, his eyes gleaming in his tawny skin. ‘What do you think? You knew what the deal was, Amber.’

      ‘Deal?’ she echoed. She raised her eyebrows. ‘What deal was that?’

      ‘I told you it was a one-night stand!’ he exploded.

      ‘And virgins aren’t allowed to have one-night stands?’

      ‘Yes. No! Stop wilfully misunderstanding me!’

      ‘I’m confused, Conall. You still haven’t told me why you’re so angry.’

      He glared at her. ‘You know damned well why.’

      ‘No, I don’t.’

      ‘There’s an unspoken rule about sex—that if you’re inexperienced, you tell the man.’

      ‘Why? So that you could be “gentle” with me?’

      ‘So that I could have turned around and walked right out again.’

      ‘Because you didn’t want me?’

      Conall steeled himself against that uncertain note in her voice, reminding himself that she was a consummate actress. She’d played the vamp to an astonishingly successful degree and had fooled him completely. He’d fantasised about all the sexual tricks she might have learnt over the years. He’d been expecting accomplishment and slickness—not for her to cry out like that when he tore through her hymen. Or to clutch at him like a child with a new toy when he was deep inside her. That wonder on her face had not been feigned, he realised grimly.

      ‘You know I wanted you. My body is programmed to want you. It’s a reaction outside my control.’

      ‘Gee.